I will have to take drastic measures towards celebrating holidays with my family. Yes, people, as hard as it may seem, they have managed to fuck up even Mother’s Day, turning it into a festival of blood, sweat and tears. It all started one innocent, bright morning when, after getting props from my mom for my outlandish present (as always, when I give a gift, I GIVE a gift, bitch!), she asked me, no, she begged me, with a tormented look in her eyes, to accompany her, dad, and sibling to said brother’s new appartment, where they were still supposed to carry a few things from his previous place and finish up the tiresome moving process. I said, feh, what the hell. It probably won’t take that long, and maybe we’ll be back early enough for me to escape and get to see my dearly beloved other half. He had gone to visit his mom as well, so I figured he’d be back by late afternoon. Besides, I was looking forward to the traditional Mother’s Day dinner, and seeing as she jumped up and down and shrieked like a horny schoolgirl when I agreed to go, I figured I was doing the right thing. It’s been long since we all went out to eat together.
I noticed something was wrong when His Royal Putridness Lord Lucifer started talking about how good it was that I was lending a hand to carry all the crap that still remained in my brother’s old appartment, which gave me the impression that there still was a lot of shit to carry around. Boy, was I in for a pleasant surprise. We went on our merry way on two vehicles, right after I demanded to go with my brother, since the other choice was to travel in the cramped, smelly truck with my dad. I rather hear my brother’s inane rambling in a cushy ride than listen to my dad’s idiotic babble in a stinky, uncomfortable pickup. So I cranked my iPod to almost maximum and tried to ignore all the shit my brother talked. He could go on for minutes talking crap without realizing I wasn’t even listening. An hour or so later we arrive to the new place. It surprised me how it didn’t smell like shit everywhere, since I’m pretty sure it was located on the island’s ass. That thing was FAR, and we took so many turns I didn’t even remember how we got there. The place, however, is pretty swanky, much better than the last one, and it was already furnished and squeaky clean.
After checking out the "pad", we left to move my brother’s stuff back there, so later we arrive to the old apartment, and, surprise of surprises, everything was just as he left it. It seems the moving process hadn’t even started at all. Oh goody gumdrops! I’m gonna spend mother’s day moving stuff from one point of the island to another! Not only that, both places are second floors! yay!!
It was a sticky, stinky, filthy afternoon, which only got worse as it got darker. I tried texting my b/f to let some of the steam off, but I only got a short, dry reply, which only led me to believe that he wasn’t in a very good mood either. And I think I knew why. 8 p.m. already and I was still 2 hrs away from him, with no hope of getting to see him anytime soon.
Great. I’m tired, sweaty, hungry, have a splitting headache and a pissed off boyfriend. Que bello es todo!
In the meantime, we decide to finally take my mom to dinner, all sweaty and tired, with two fully loaded vehicles. When we were finished, I took advantage of a moment of solitude and called my beau, who, as I suspected, was not in a very talkative mood. I knew he’d be somewhat irked that I would be unable to spend the day with him, but it seems that, assuming I’d be back early enough or that I would decide to skip dinner with mom and stay, he returned from his own family affairs earlier than expected, cutting up his own family time in hopes of getting to spend some time with me.
That, right there, made me feel like utter shit. Not only did I trade valuable time with my partner for a day of unwanted hard labor, I also fucked up HIS day by giving him false hopes. Way to go, K., you’re on your way for a Master’s degree from Asshole University.
When we were heading back to the new apartment at about 9-ish, I was crumbling down. I had wasted this whole day following somebody else’s agenda, just for the sake of gracing my mother with my presence on her day, since she is constantly bitching about me never spending any time with her or the whole family. I FUCKING WONDER WHY.
As my insides revolted with anger and frustration, my phone chirps, and I received a message that made my heart skip a beat. Just two simple words from my boyfriend:
Whatever. It’s not like their opinion will affect me anyway. Besides, my father has let me know how much of a dissappoinment I am, not to my face (that fucking coward), but he makes sure the whole goddamn neighborhood knows as well.
We arrived at about 1:20 a.m. Shit. So I won’t call in sick… When we get in the house all tired and weary, I listen to his royal wickedness growling my name, trying to coerce me into getting some things off the truck (we carried half my brother’s crap back home, since he had no place for it in his new apartment). I happily ignore his bastard ass, and proceed to brush my teeth and take a long, well deserved hot shower.
I started writing this entry last night, but sleep got a hold of me, so I saved, signed off and went to bed, only to have my sleep taken away from me by god-knows-what. I kept rolling around the bed, my mind endlessly re-playing all the screwed up things that went on today. I got so fucking angry that I punched the wall hard (I still have no idea why), probably waking up my parents, but I didn’t care. The throbbing in my knuckles didn’t bother me as much as the sudden lack of sleep.
After a few minutes, I dozed off, only to be woken up after what seemed like minutes, and instead of listening a pleasant "good morning", I heard "Help me get all this shit off the truck".
